Midnight in Paris
by MysticEyesx
Summary: Paris, 1922. Les Annés Folles. Two immortals with a tortured past and a passion for art meet one night at midnight in the city of love.


_**Midnight in Paris**_

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"_An artist has no home in Europe except in Paris_"—**Friedrich Nietzsche**

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**Disclaimer: **I own nothing!

**Summary:** Paris, 1922. Les Annés Folles. Two immortals with a tortured past and a passion for art meet one night at midnight.

…

_L'artiste Bleu _was located in an unknown underground location in the centre of Paris. Many artists across the city would come to the bar for a night of entertainment, live music, dancing, liquor and prostitution. If you're an artist living in Paris or simply have a taste for art, it's most likely you've been to or heard of _L'artiste Bleu. _Some of the greatest artists of Les Annés Folles have known to have come to the bar from time to time. Tonight was just another Thursday night in _L'artiste Bleu_; it would be filled with live music, laughter, strong liquor, cigars and people living in the moment. Tonight was also the night I met _him_ for the first time.

I had been living in Paris for a little over a year now. A part of me knew it was now time for me to move on, find another city, another life with a new identity. But I had fallen in love with Paris the moment I was at it's doorstep a little over a year ago. After fifty-eight years of simply existing, Paris was the first place I truly felt like home to me. I loved the culture, the language, the city atmosphere, and I especially loved the nightlife (but I suppose, being what I am, I was quite partial to the nightlife). Living in Paris was easy—even for a vampire. In Paris, I didn't have to worry about exposure. I could be who I am, without any sort of risk or danger.

Of course, I _was_ careful—I'm always careful. I make sure not to create too suspicion, by pretending to live some normal façade; I work as a nurse at one of the local hospitals, treating the sick and feeding off the terminally ill. And although feeding off the sick has become rather tiresome, it worked; no-one expected a thing. They all thought I was Renée Schwartz—the Jewish girl who was orphaned from birth, left in the streets of Paris to die, where I have remained for the rest of my 18 years of life until I found a job as a nurse. No-one would expect sweet, innocent Renée Schwartz was a mindless killing creature from the dark myths and legends.

That night, I had returned from the hospital before dark, and settled down to read a book until I knew it was safe for me to leave my apartment building without being seen. My neighbour, Mademoiselle Bissette, usually returned to her apartment around seven after her daily affair with a married owner of a bakery, and the landlord Monsieur Jacques went to bed gone nine. Once it had gone nine thirty, I put away my book and proceeded to dress for the night. In order to get into a bar like _L'artiste Bleu_, you needed to at least look the part. I dressed myself in a beaded black dress that reached my calves. The dress hugged my every curve and the beaded tassels shimmered and whooshed with each movement I made. Around my neck, I placed a long chain of pearls. In my ears, I left my lapis lazuli tear-drop earrings on. For my make-up, I left my face bare and simply smeared my lips with rouge paste. As for my hair, I left it flowing down my back in glossy black curls. Then I was ready to go.

When I arrived at _L'artiste Bleu_ it had gone eleven and the bar was alive with music. Within these past few years, the style in which music was played had drastically changed. It had moved from the slow, traditional music accompanied by string instruments to fast-paced, lively tunes played by wind instruments, accompanied by pianos and/or vocals. They were calling it 'jazz'. Whatever it is, I loved it, and as I entered the room filled with this lively music, I felt as if I was in my element.

The bar was dark and scarcely lit by the candles on the circular tables and on the walls. On the far side of the entrance, was the stage, where the live band was playing. And nearby was the bar. On there walls purple velvet curtains with gold tassels were draped and paintings were hung. There were several secluded rooms leading off from this bar, through one of the velvet purple curtains but I never usually ventured there, for that was usually where the ladies of the nights took their men. I made my way through the clouds of cigar smoke and crowds people to the equally as crowded bar.

"Bella!" the barmaid called my real name from behind the bar. It was Esme, a close acquaintance of mine here in Paris. She and her husband, Carlisle, both ran the bar. It just so happened they were vampires too, but a different kind of vampires. They were, as I called them, the Cold Ones—which derived from their cool to touch skin. They, like me, were coming to the end of their stay here in Paris. It was time for them to move on and start a new life elsewhere before people began to notice they weren't aging. What would happen to the bar was up to them, but they probably had many people lining up to take the bar from their hands. Esme and Carlisle had even offered for me to travel with them. I hadn't accepted their proposal, nor had I denied it either. I told them I would sleep on it.

"Esme," I acknowledged with a nod of the head and a friendly smile. "You're looking delicious." I rolled my eyes up and down her body, my eyes slightly darkening with desire when they took in her curves that were tightly compacted in a closely fit white flapper dress. "Carlisle will be ripping that off you tonight, no doubt." I met her violet eyes with a smirk. I knew underneath those blue eye contacts, the irises were a vivid shade of blood red.

Esme's eyes twinkled impishly. "Oh I hope so." She said, licking her lips, and moving her eyes to where Carlisle was serving a customer. "Out for the hunt tonight, Bella?"

I ran my tongue along my teeth. My gums were aching with need and hunger. "You know it." I drawled.

Esme chuckled. "Just don't make a mess." And then she set to work fixing up my drink. She passed it me, and when I offered her money, she said it was on the house. She gave me one lustful look before I wandered off into the crowd of people. I knew she would be watching me closely tonight, and couldn't help but feel complacent. Esme and I had never done anything but kiss and share our victim. For us, it wasn't about emotional attraction; it was about the thrill of the hunt. Watching and experiencing the hunt was extremely sensuous to vampires. Esme would most likely be fantasying about it as she made love to Carlisle tonight.

My eyes roamed over the crowd, sipping leisurely from my drink, hunting for my prey. Men from across the room leered at me with wanting eyes, which only made the desire to kill greater. As I moved my eyes around the room, surveying each man, I went through the traditional questions in my head. Will he be young tonight? Will he be married? Will he be a criminal? A rapist? A murder? _Will_ I kill? It was apart of my nature to choose who I would devour. When it came to the criminals, the rapists and the murders, I would usually kill them once I had my fill. Those who were young and innocent, I would spare. I could be merciful when I chose to be.

But whether I was feeling merciful tonight was the question.

And when my eyes landed on my prey, I knew the answer was no. Criminal, rapist, murderer—he unmistakably fell into one of those categories. I could tell that from just one look at him. It was quite easy to pull apart the good and the bad when you're a vampire. It's like a sixth sense, if you will. And my sixth sense was telling me that this man deserved to be rotting behind bars. I knew I would enjoy taking his last breath tonight. In my head I was already planning on how I would drain his body dry, until the very last drop. My tongue darted out from my lips, running along my lips. My prey seemed to mistake it for lust, for it only made the want in his eyes grow and the smirk in his lips stretch.

My inner huntress took control and the next thing I knew I was walking towards my prey, my hips swaying seductively from side to side. My prey's eyes rolled up and down my body, devouring me mentally, most probably wondering whether I looked just as good with my clothes off than on. _Oh honey, _a voice inside my head said, _it's even better. _Before long, I was feet from him. "Hello, handsome." I purred seductively.

My huntress inside of me purred in delight when I heard his heart skip a beat.

_Perfect._

"Bonjour." My prey said, in a dark lust-coated tone of voice. "And what is your name?"

Looking up through my thick, black lashes, I answered: "Marie. And you?"

Marie, Renée, Belle, Maria, Eliza . . . They were usually the names that I gave. Never Bella.

"Charles." My lips tightened together momentarily, and I struggled to remain my cool. My prey didn't seem to acknowledge my sudden stiffness, but rather leaning in until his nose was brushing against my hair. I heard him inhale my scent—alluring no doubt. "Why don't we go somewhere a little more . . . private?" he whispered, his hot breath against my ear. It felt disgusting, but my inner huntress was too eager to care. The ache in my gums was getting on the verge of painful now.

"Yes." I purred back, reaching up to run my nail of my finger down his neck. I felt him shiver under my touch. My prey placed a hand on my lower back and leads me towards the purple velvet curtains. I had, of course, been through these curtains a handful of times—usually when I wanted my prey for something more than a bite to eat—but no more than I could count using one hand. As we slipped through the velvet curtains and out of sight, my prey's hand slipped lower until he was cupping my buttocks. A growl lingered in the pit of my stomach but I didn't make a move to stop it. I would more than make up for it when I fed from him.

My prey lead us to the furthest room along the narrow, dark corridor. With my heightened hearing, I could hear everything coming from every room—every moan, every cry, every grunt, every smack of skin hitting skin. It didn't bother me—I was no stranger to sex—and my mind was concentrated on the hunt. We slipped inside the room and I heard my prey lock the door behind us. Little did he know, locking the door would come to his own disadvantage . . .

My back remained faced to him and before long I felt his presence behind me, pushing aside my hair and pressing his lips to my neck.

"You are . . . magnificent." He muttered in French.

His words had no affect on me. I heard it many times before. It was just that: words.

His lips proceeded to move lower and lower down my neck and I remained stiff, unaffected. I let my eyes closed and I imagined what it would be like once I had sunk my teeth into his hot, tangible flesh . . . my mouth began to salivate, my gums began to ache—my fangs started to protrude—and my breaths quicken. My prey chuckled against my skin. "You like that?" he sneered against my skin. "You'll be enjoying everything I do to you tonight." His hands moved down to grip my hips. He thought his grip was tight, keeping my rooted to the ground—he couldn't be more wrong. "Won't you, Marie?"

I hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose . . ." I suppose I will enjoy him clawing against my firm, iron grip as I sucked the life out of his body.

My prey chuckled again. "Just you see . . ." his hands curled around the material of my dress and slowly began to pull it higher and higher. Once the dress had reached my knees, the inner huntress' patience has worn thin and the hunger was near unbearable. I _needed _it. I _needed _the blood. My hands reached down and curled around my prey's hands, forcing him to pause. My prey's hot breath sprayed against my neck. "Now, now . . . don't be shy . . . it's nothing I've never seen before." he finished his sentence with a scream. I had twisted wrists back. "Fuck!" he cried out, stumbling away from me.

I turned around, smirk stretched across my lips and chest heaving. "No, I suppose you're right. But you'll never see anything like it again." I reached forward, curling my hand around his shirt and threw him effortlessly onto the bed in the centre of the room. The man's eyes had become wide with fear. I flashed to the bed, his mouth had only just opened to scream when I had reached him. I slapped my hand to his mouth and straddled his waist, holding him down to the bed. My other hand was gripping both of his hands above his head. "What? Why the change of heart? This was what you wanted wasn't it?" I purred in a foreign innocent voice, bottom lip gutted out. I rolled my hips over his crouch. "You wanted me right here didn't you? Oh, wait, or was it that you wanted to be on-top of me? Was it that you wanted to be clamping your hand to my mouth, holding down my wrists as you _raped _and later killed me? You wanted me to be like all the other girls you raped then killed, was that it?" I cocked my head to the side as a stray tear fell down his cheek. "Awh, _baby_." I cooed patronisingly. "Don't worry . . ."—I leant down to breathe in his ear—"It'll only hurt . . . _a lot_."

My head moved downwards, lips trailing along his skin until finally I reached my destination: the pulse point. I could feel his heartbeat against my lips. It was so loud now, so clear. I was so close from getting what I wanted. My fangs had stretched out to its full length, scraping against my bottom gums. On its own accord, my mouth began to open. But then my prey bit the hand over his mouth, making me freeze, the point of my fangs less than an inch away from his skin. I chuckled from the back of my throat. "Ah, ah, ah,"—I whispered—"I'm the one that's supposed to be doing the biting, remember?"

And then I dove. My fangs pierced his skin, sinking effortlessly into his flesh. My whole body spasms in pleasure when his hot, thick blood hits the back of my throat and latterly my taste buds. It tasted so good. Killing him tasted so good. I drank and drank and he screamed and screamed. Occasionally he would attempt to break free from my hold but it was infertile and eventually—when he had lost so much blood—he became too weak to move a muscle. But I continued to drink, listening as his heart began to beat slower and slower. When he was taking his last few breaths, I pulled away, blood dripping from my mouth, the whites of my eyes blood-red and black veins crawling from the skin under my eyes.

"I'm sorry but you really did deserve it,"—I said in an amused tone of voice. I reached up to catch the trail of blood falling from my chin before it dropped onto the bed sheets. I put the finger into my mouth and sucked, humming in delight. I looked down at my dying prey and smirked—"Say hello to the devil for me. Oh, and if you see my father in hell, tell him _Bella_ says '_Hello Daddy_'." And then he took his last breathe, his heart coming to an end. He was dead. "Ugh,"—I said, curling my lip in disgust—"You'd rally think I'd be used to dead bodies by now."

I pulled myself from his body and head straight for the door. I left the bodies for Esme and Carlisle to clean up. We had an agreement per say; I give them enchanted lapis lazuli jewellery in return for them to clean up after me. Not that they burnt in the sunlight like I did; all they did was sparkle like a diamond, but apparently they wanted the option to walk around in day without exposing themselves.

When I walked out the door, I nearly bumped into a giggling, obviously drunk couple. When they tried to go into the door I had just left, I paused and stopped them. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you,"—the drunk couple stopped to look at them—"My client just emptied his stomach. It's everywhere—the carpet, the rug, the bed . . ." the couple seemed to get the gist and went looking for another room. I chuckled and headed back out of the velvet curtains to inform Esme that I had finished. Only, it was Carlisle behind the bar when I arrived, and Esme was circulating the room—talking to crowds.

Carlisle was in mid-conversation when I approached the bar. I didn't look at the person he was talking to, keeping my attention solely on Carlisle, whom paused the conversation when he spotted me over his conversationer's shoulder. "Excuse me,"—Carlisle said to the man he spoke to—"Bella." He acknowledged me. I placed myself at the bar, beside the man sitting on the stool that was talking to Carlisle. "Everything alright?" he asked, his eyes full of unsaid questions.

I hummed. "Yes, everything quite alright. There is some mess for you to clean up out back, though, I'm afraid." I said casually.

Carlisle simply nodded. "I'll get Esme right on it." Carlisle's eyes then moved back to the man. "Bella, may I introduce you to an old friend of mine I met in Italy . . ."—the man turned his body in the bar stool as Bella angled her body in his direction. My eyes were met with deep teal ones. "Klaus, may I introduce you to a frequent customer here: Bella."

_Klaus_. _Germanic name, I think_—I thought to myself, as I took in Carlisle's old friend. He was, unmistakably, very handsome—I couldn't deny that. But handsome was overrated; I had seen it all before, in many different forms and shapes. His face was masculine and features prominent—strong cheek bones, hallow cheeks, defined jaw with a slight stubble peaking through and a protruding brow. His hair was fair, curled, and combed back. His shoulders were broad, but he was lean—in a good way though. I knew the muscles were there even underneath his black suit jacket.

"Pleasure." I murmured, reaching a hand forward to shake his. He lifted his own and I caught sight of the lapis lazuli ring on his finger. So . . . he was one of my kind, then. It wasn't often that I encountered one of my kind—primarily because we looked so similar to humans. It was only when we were in hunt that our true being is revealed. But sometimes, occasionally, you meet one of my kind—the lapis lazuli ring was usually the first telltale sign of my kind. If they're wearing a ring, then you know that they've got a witch on their side, which makes suddenly a lot more a threat.

Klaus grasped his hand around mine, but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and pressed a delicate kiss to my knuckles. I fought back the urge to shiver, remaining cool and collected. "Pleasure is all mine." Klaus' eyes slowly moved to my eyes, down my face and pausing at my lips. "I do believe you have something just . . . there." He pointed to the corner of lip, as he let my hand drop. I reached a hand to my lips, and felt something wet against the corner of my lip. I retracted my hand and looked down. Crimson blood was smeared on my finger. "There, all gone." He murmured, a slight tone of amusement in his voice.

Looking up through my lashes, a grin began to stretch out across my lips. "Thank you." I then put my finger in my lips, sucking off the remainder of my prey's blood.

Klaus' eyebrow rose and his lip twitched.

"Have you been in Paris long?" I asked, once my hand had dropped back to my side. Carlisle had disappeared to serve customers long ago.

Klaus pressed his lips together for a second then answered: "Only a matter of days."

"Hm," I said with a nod. "Passing through?"

Klaus shrugged. "That depends . . ."

I cocked my head to the side. "On what?"

"Whether something captures my interest." He answered, casually, reaching out to pick up his glass and took a slow, leisurely sip.

I watched him, curiously. "Well, if you're one for fine art, literature, music and a wild nightlife . . . Paris is your place to be."

Klaus hummed. "Art is one of my many passions."

"Do you paint?" I asked.

Klaus tapped his fingers on his glass. "When I'm not otherwise engaged." He murmured, one corner of his lips curled upwards. "And you—do you paint?"

"Me? Paint?" I then shook my head. "No. I have no artistic talent—but art is something I love to admire. My mother was a beautiful painter—a talent which, unfortunately, was never passed down onto me."

"Interesting." Klaus drawled. "And how long have you been here in Paris?"

"A little over a year." I answered.

Klaus' eyebrows rose. "A long time for . . ." his eyes flickered to my lapis lazuli earrings and smirked. I knew exactly how that sentence was meant to be finished. _A long time for a vampire._

I shrugged. "Paris captured my heart in many ways." I then sighed, inhaling and exhaling deeply. "But I'll be leaving soon."

"Why?" Klaus retorted.

I looked at him and quirked my brow. "Isn't that what we do? Move from place to place, never staying in one place too long?"

This time Klaus shrugged. "Most do . . . but we don't have to."

"Well _I_ do."

Klaus cocked his head to the side. "Why?" he said with a slight impish grin. "Running from something?" he then said, in offering: "Your past, perhaps?"

I snorted loudly. "I suppose you could say that, yes." I then looked at him through calculating eyes. "And you? What are you running from?"

Klaus raised a challenging brow. "How do you know I'm running from something?"

I let out a small laugh. "It takes one to know one."

Just then a new song started, grasping both of our attention. I turned around to watch the band; I hadn't heard this song before and, unsurprisingly, I found myself tapping along to the beat—my fingers drummed on the surface of the bar and my foot tapped on the floor. I watched them for several moments, until Klaus' voice brought me back to the present. "Would you do me the pleasure of dancing with me?" I looked around and blinked. He was now standing and he was certainly taller than I expected—6 ft. perhaps or maybe a little more. His hand was outstretched in offer.

I stared at him in contemplation for a short second before placing my hand in his. Klaus gave me a wicked grin before leading us out to the dance-floor. When we found a space, he twirled me around on the spot before pulling me to his chest. I quickly placed my hand on his forearm and we soon fell into beat to the song. He wasn't a bad dancer at all, which both impressed and enticed me. We danced in silence for a short while, switching between staring into each other's arms and looking around the room. Eventually, it was Klaus who broke the silence.

"So . . . who was he?" Klaus suddenly asked, devilish smirk in place. I looked at him, in slight confusion, before Klaus elaborated: "The man's blood on your lips. Who was he?"

I resisted the urge to smirk. "How do you know he was a he?"

Klaus rolled his eyes. "Just answer the question."

I rose my eyebrows at his demanding tone of voice but then, after little consideration, answered: "A rapist bastard."

"Ah,"—Klaus said with sudden understanding—"You're one of those types."

I pulled my head back to a get better look at him. "What type?" I retorted, in a demanding tone.

Klaus chuckled. "The self-hating type; the type who hate what they are so much, they think killing all the big bad humans will make them less of a monster."

My hand clenched around his harder and my body stiffened. "You don't know what you're talking about." I said through clenched teeth. "I love who I am." He gave me a look that said '_oh really'_? "My human life was pathetic, nor am I—or ever been—a believer of faith. My father believed; he believed every sin a person committed was one step further to getting a free ticket into hell. This was quite ironic because he never accounted for all the sins that he committed when I was human." I snorted darkly. "But I'm sure he does now . . . in hell." I murmured emotionlessly. Klaus' eyes never strayed him mine and while mine were cold as stone, his were curious and alive. "I kill who I want to kill, and if that man be a rapist or murderer—then so be it. I'll have saved another innocent man, woman or child be robbed of a normal life."

"Hm." Klaus finally said after a while. He seemed unaffected by my words and remained as light-natured as before. "And how long have you been like this?"

I licked my lips and grinned. "Didn't you know it's rude to ask a girl how old she is?" Klaus merely rolled his eyes and grinned back down at her. "Fifty-eight years." I answered.

Klaus nodded. "You're still young."

I shrugged. "That depends on who I'm being compared to." I studied his face carefully. "Two hundred?" Klaus chuckled and shook his head. "Three?" No. "Four?" No. "Five?" Chuckle and another shake of the head. "One hundred?"

Klaus exhaled heavily and rolled his eyes. "Try one thousand, love."

I froze on the spot. "A _thousand_ . . ." I gasped, barely a whisper. "But that means . . . that means . . ." I struggled to grasp my words. "You must be as old as the Volturi . . ."

Klaus' face tightened slightly. "Ah, so you're acquainted with my old friends, then." I shrugged. Not really, but I knew of them through Carlisle. "No, Aro, Caius and Marcus are still older than I—not that it matters. Their kind works in opposite ways to ours; for them, age doesn't equal strength." Klaus said, in a quite smug tone of voice. It appeared that Klaus didn't quite like the Volturi as much as the term 'old friends' may suggest. Not that anyone really liked the Volturi much; I had the inkling Carlisle kept close to them for the sake of keeping on their good side. The Volturi can be quite powerful when they needed to be . . .

"You've lived a very long time, then." I mused. Klaus nodded simply. "You've must have seen so much . . ." I whispered, looking into his eyes. It was only now I could see the age behind those teal eyes. Klaus remained silent. I sighed and then said: "I'm quite jealous. There are so many things in history that I wished I could have witnessed. Shakespeare . . . The Great Fire of London . . . the Renaissance." I admitted, droning off with a sigh.

Klaus chuckled, suddenly bringing me closer. "History is being made as we speak. I'm sure you'll experience things that others will not."

I nodded half-heartedly, knowing he was somewhat right. "Have you any met any royals?" I then asked, out of the blue.

Klaus pressed his lips together, obviously holding back a laugh. "Perhaps."

"You're not going to say who are you?"

Klaus looked down at her and grinned. "No, definitely not. What would be the fun in that?"

I narrowed my eyes, but then bit my lip. "You could at least give me a clue . . ." I murmured.

Klaus chuckled and the rest of the dance was left in silence. When the third song ended, we finally pulled apart. The bar was still lively and full, but there was much less people than before. It made me wonder how much time had passed exactly since we had walked onto the dance-floor. "This is a nice place,"—Klaus commented as we walked back to the bar—"Makes me think of a bar in Chicago."

"And Chicago is where you've come from?" I assumed. Klaus looked at me but didn't agree nor did he disagree. "You sure like to keep a girl guessing, don't you?"

Klaus placed himself down on one of the barstools with open arms. "It's all apart of the charm." He said, with a wink.

Esme then approached us, informing them that it was getting on three and the bar would be closing in an hour. Esme also informed me that the mess was taken care off, which made Klaus smirk and give me an amused look. I shrugged casually ad sipped the drink Esme had handed her. We continued to talk for the remaining hour. We talked about everything and anything—but art seemed to a reoccurring topic. Perhaps it was because it was something that we both had vast amount of passion for; Klaus, through his passion to paint, and me through my passion to talk about the hard work and psychological meaning behind each painting. There were some things that we argued over, but it only made the conversation more exciting and entertaining.

When four approached, our glasses were now empty and people were filing out of the bar in throngs. "Why don't we take a stroll through the streets of Paris?" I suddenly offered as we both began to get ready to leave. Surprisingly I found myself not wanting my time with Klaus to end.

Klaus looked at me for a long contemplating moment, before holding out an arm for me to take. "Shall we?" I wrapped a hand around the crook of his elbow and the both of us headed out of the bar, bidding Esme and Carlisle farewell. Esme winked at me as we left together, obviously finding all of this extremely amusing. I simply rolled my eye at her and waved before we walked out of the door. Before long, we were strolling along the dark streets of Paris, arm in arm. "And where are you from—originally?"

"You mean where I was born?" I asked. Klaus gave a curt nod. "Italy, I suppose. It was where I grow up for the majority of my life and then when I was sixteen, I moved to America to live with a relative of my mother's after she died. You?"

Klaus exhaled, his breath a cloud of smoke as it hit the cool air. "America, I guess. But when my family and I were there, it hadn't become the country that it was now. It was called the 'New World'." Klaus looked down at there then quirked a brow at my intense expression.

I gave him a sheepish look. "I'm sorry . . . I just—I find it all so fascinating."

"History is something you're passionate about?"

I nodded slowly. "I guess . . . I always wonder what influenced us in the past that made us who we are today." I thoughtfully said, looking a ahead as I said it. "I suppose that's the amazing thing about being immortal; we get to watch the world change around us, while we never change." I looked up, smile on my face, and saw that he was looking down at me with an expression on his face that I couldn't quite explain. "What?" I found myself saying.

Klaus snickered and looked ahead. "It's just that it's refreshing to hear, is all." Klaus said. "After being alive for so long, you come quite accustom to hearing vampire's negative views on being immortal. For the women, they never get the chance to have a family of their own—a child of their own; for the men, they never get to heir a son or die side-by-side with their wife." Klaus rolled his eyes in irritancy.

"I don't think I've ever wanted a child of my own." I lowly admitted. Klaus looked at her. "But I did have a child—when I was fifteen. A little baby boy. After giving birth to him, I ran away and left him on the doorstep of a newly wed couple trying but struggling to conceive. I did my bit for mankind and I'm just glad that I never had to raise him." I looked down at the ground, watching her feet move across the street ground. "I would have been a terrible mother. Since I was never married, I never would have had the means to raise him. Giving him to that couple was the best—and the most selfish and selfless—thing I could have done to him."

"Did you ever go back?"

"Once . . ." I answered, with a shrug. ". . . when I was a vampire. I sat in the church and watched as he married this beautiful girl—a kind farmer's daughter. He was happy. I don't regret what I did, not one bit."

"Living in a world of regret isn't truly living." Klaus said slowly.

I looked up and gave him a wide smile. "I couldn't agree more."

After ten to fifteen more minutes of walking through the streets of Paris, we had reached the Eiffel Tower. We spent a few silent moments looking at the landmark, before conversation sparked up again. "Thank you,"—I finally said, breaking the silence between us, pulling my eyes from the Eiffel Tower to look at Klaus. And then when gave me a look that said '_what for_?', I continued—"For this evening . . . it's been a long time since I've managed to spend more than an hour in one person's company. Without trying to make this sound pathetic—I've really enjoyed spending this evening with you. So . . . thank you, again." I then reached up and pressed my lips to his stubbled cheek, trying not to inhale his alluring as I did so, and then pulled away flushed cheeks and slightly in shock of what I had just done.

"You're quite welcome." Klaus flashed a smirk.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't."

"What?" he replied, in foreign innocence.

"Don't make it out that I'm just another hopeless girl that has fallen for your charm." I huffed.

Klaus grinned, taking a slow step forward. "_Have_ you fallen for my charm, Bella?" my name drawled from his lips like butter.

I pressed my lips together tightly. "No." I lied.

Klaus' grin never wavered and he took another step forward. "Lie."

I gritted my teeth. "No it isn't." Another step forward. "It really, really isn't a . . ." Another step. He was now mere inches from me. If I were to sway forward, our chests would brush together. ". . . A lie." I finished off, suddenly quite breathless.

"Did your mother ever teach you not to lie, Bella?" Klaus' breathed. His voice was so deeply seductive, I shivered tightly and had to swallow back all the emotions rising up inside me.

My lips parted and a small exhale released from my lips. I watched as his eyes slowly moved down until they were watching my lips. "Perhaps."

"Hmm,"—Klaus hummed—"Perhaps you need reminding what happens to bad girls after they lie."

It was suddenly becoming a lot harder to breathe. "Oh?" I played along, regardless. "And what's that?"

Klaus' face leant forward until our lips were brushing. "They get bit." He breathed. And then his teeth caught my bottom lip, sinking into my tender flesh. I moaned in delight. Klaus' hands suddenly wrapped around me—his hands curling around my back, and then with one harsh push, our chests had crashed together. I gasped loudly and his grip on my bottom lip with his teeth loosened, and then it was just out mouths that were connected. My arms threw themselves around him, one of my hands finding its way into his cropped curls. This most certainly wasn't my first kiss, but I hadn't had a kiss quite like this either. Every kiss was different, but this was different from a long shot. No kiss had ever sparked these kind of emotions out of me like this kiss was. And soon kissing wasn't enough.

When we finally pulled away for air, both of us needing a second to breathe—though apparently Klaus needed much less longer than I did, because not a second later he was devouring my jawline and then my neck with his lips; I moaned and threw my head back in pleasure, curling one of my hands around the material over his shirt and digging my nails into the back of his neck. "I . . ."—gasp—" . . . have an apartment near here. Perhaps . . ."—gasp—". . . we should take this there."

Klaus pulled back a fraction of a second to give me a smirk and a nod. "I like your thinking, love."

We barely made it back to my apartment in one piece. As soon as the door of the apartment closed behind us, Klaus had slammed me against one of the walls and had started from where he had left off. And suddenly he was everywhere—his lips alternating between my lips and my neck. When he reached my shoulders, he began to pull down the straps of my dress. Meanwhile, I was desperately trying to get rid of his jacket and shirt. I somehow managed to dispose of the jacket, but the shirt proved to be more difficult. Eventually I just tore it off in frustration. This amused Klaus immensely.

I merely shrugged carelessly in return. "You can do the same in return, if you want."

Klaus gave me one look and the next thing I know loud tears of fabric echoed across the apartment. Then I was stark naked (I wasn't one for undergarments) and Klaus had stood back to devour me with his eyes. The one thing I noticed was that this was far different from how any other man had looked at me. I couldn't quite explain it, but I just knew it was different. "Like what you see?" I taunted, as I pulled the pearls from my neck and threw them to the ground.

Klaus couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from my body. "Do I even need to answer that?"

_No, not really_, was my mental answer. I never got to say it because Klaus was back to devouring my body with his hands and lips.

We didn't leave the bedroom for a good time after that. When I next looked out of the window, once we had finished, it was daylight and judging by where the sun was positioned in the sky—it was well passed noon. I turned on my bed, covered only by the sheets on the bed, and rested my head on the palm of my hand, turning my attention to Klaus whom lay on his back, running his fingers up and down one of my legs underneath the covers. "Will I be seeing you again after you walk out that door?" I nodded towards the bedroom door. I wasn't stupid; I knew what life was like as a vampire. Being tied down was almost always the last thing on an immortal's mind, unless it really is true love.

"I was thinking,"—Klaus suddenly said, avoiding the question—"I have a residence in almost every capital in every country in Europe—but Paris that is. Perhaps it's about time I bought one." Klaus murmured.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Is this your subtle way of trying to tell me something?"

"Let's just say, I've found something that's captured my interest."

A slow grin crept across my face before I slowly leant down and pressed my lips to his.

Perhaps I could stay in Paris for a little longer.

_Fin._


End file.
